


Just a Little Bit

by Saranghae



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8561596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saranghae/pseuds/Saranghae
Summary: Minho says Thomas is the strongest, but here in Paradise, it's hard to be strong when there's nothing to fight. Thomas dreams of his mistakes and a longing he can't forget, but he's still the happiest he's ever been in his limited memory.





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is i've been awake for over 24 hours and i have read two tmr books in like 4 days i am a little crazed and this isn't edited or even read over so idk what it looks like it might be a mess im sorry im the worst human being but i love pain and i love these boys ugh someone just...
> 
> i'm going to bed.

Thomas was warm. The soft sheets lay gently over him, providing only privacy in the warm summer night. Breath danced along his neck. He sighed, eyes closed in content.

Soft lips pressed to his jaw, leaving him breathless as they peppered kisses towards his mouth.

He moaned softly and felt those tender lips press to his, kissed back with so much eagerness he startled a moan from the boy on top of him.

Hands wandered and Thomas felt his cheeks heat up as his skin tingled with each gentle touch.

He tangled his hands in soft hair, opening his mouth against the other as he invited him in. Thomas felt a tongue flick against his, felt the warm wetness that something in the back of his mind told him shouldn’t be as arousing as it was.

They were both naked, he realized with a start when he felt a warm body press down against his, hips connecting in a glorious slide that left Thomas trembling.

Gasps and mewls pulled from him against his will.

There was no rational thinking here. It was all heat and lust and tenderness that left Thomas quivering and aching for more.

“ _Please,”_ he gasped, his voice ragged.

He didn’t specify what he was begging for, but the boy seemed to know exactly what he wanted. Solid hips rocked down against his and Thomas cried out so loudly the noise rang in his own ears.

“ _Yes,_ ” he moaned, throwing his head back as one hand moved from the other’s hair to grip his bicep hard enough that Thomas’ nails dug into his flesh.

Teeth attached to his neck, biting and sucking and littering Thomas’ skin with bruises.

Fingers gripped his waist so tightly it cut through the pleasure just slightly. Thomas squirmed, wanting more of the glorious friction instead of the biting pain that was steadily growing stronger on his side.

He frowned, eyes still closed as he shifted away from the hand, startled a little when it gripped him tighter, pinning him completely to the bed as the second hand came down and gripped the other side of his hip.

“ _M-Minho,_ ” Thomas breathed softly, hands moving down to grasp the boy’s wrists. “ _Stop. It hurts.”_

A growl so feral that Thomas’ stomach lurched with a sudden, terrified familiarity rang in his ear.

He jerked away from the sound, eyes flashing open for the first time.

A wisp of long, blond hair brushed across his face as Thomas reeled back to look at the boy on top of him, a strangled cry stuck in his throat.

It wasn’t Minho.

“ _You did this!”_ Spit and blood splattered Thomas’ face. The crazed, empty eyes above him bore into his as he tried to find the will to look away.

Thomas trembled, but for entirely different reasons this time. He fought the impossibly strong hands gripping him.

“ _Murderer!”_

One hand shot up and gripped his throat.

 

Thomas screamed, the sound choking off into a sob at the last second as he jerked upright in bed.

He struggled with the tangled blankets trapping him for a moment as he fought to bring his hand to his throat. He could still feel those fingers wrapped tightly around his throat.

His hands trembled as his eyes flicked wildly around the room. He was in bed, in the middle of the night.

He was fine. There was no flare, no maze, no WICKED.

No Newt.

Thomas buried his face in his hands and felt a sob wreck his frame. He was shaking so badly his teeth chattered.

He could still remember how softly the Newt in his dreams had touched him at first. He could still feel his lips.

He sat there for what felt like hours, letting the tears fall freely down his cheeks, but he knew it could only have been a couple of minutes before Minho had made the short trek from his room across the hall to Thomas’.

Strong arms wrapped around him tightly as the bed dipped. Minho climbed as completely onto the small bed as possible as he practically pulled Thomas onto his lap, pressing kisses across Thomas’ face as he whispered sweet words of comfort— _You’re safe. I’m here. It was just a dream._

Thomas let the words wash over him, hating how his heart ached as he thought about how easily he had thought the boy in his dream had been Minho. The tenderness of his kisses was something Thomas thought he wouldn’t find anywhere else.

Minho knew he was strong. They had been through hell and back together and Minho had told him so many times how he thought Thomas was the strongest out of all of them.

That didn’t stop Minho from touching Thomas like he was the most precious and fragile thing in their little Paradise.

After a full year of being free of the god forsaken world they’d come from, Thomas was still plagued with nightmares.

No one knew what he had done. Minho would never know what he had done.

Minho was the only thing keeping Thomas from falling to complete pieces.

He had needed to be strong back in the real world. He hadn’t had a choice.

The moment things settled down in Paradise, every death and traumatic event came rushing back to Thomas with a vengeance. He didn’t have the strength to be brave any more.

He let the nightmares come, every night.

Because he was a failure. He was a murderer. Because He could no longer convince himself he didn’t deserve all this.

Minho lay down on the bed, pulling Thomas to his chest and carding his fingers through his hair.

No matter how many times Minho insisted, Thomas wouldn’t let them sleep in the same room. Thomas didn’t dream when Minho was beside him, wrapped around him.

Thomas needed this.

He needed to forgive himself.

And the only way that was going to happen was if he broke himself, he knew that.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Minho said softly, pressing a soft kiss to Thomas’ temple. “I could never think any different of you, no matter what happened.”

Minho said the same thing every night, giving Thomas a spark of hope each time—giving Thomas the suspicion that Minho had already guessed what he had done.

But nothing Minho could think of was that bad.

Thomas had loved Chuck like a brother. He had gotten him killed.

Thomas had loved Teresa like a sister. He had a part of him that was still glad she was dead.

Thomas had loved Newt like he could hold stars in his hands and cure wounds with a smile. He had loved Newt like the man was made of pure light. He had loved Newt more than Thomas ever felt capable of loving anyone ever again.

And he killed him.

It ate away at Thomas that Newt had stolen his heart so completely that he felt he could never love Minho the way he deserved.

Minho meant the world to Thomas, he was everything he had and everything he needed.

But Thomas still dreamed of Newt.

And Thomas still wouldn’t share a room with Minho because he loved dreaming of Newt.

No matter how much it killed him inside every time each wonderful, cosy, brilliant dream turned to acid in his mouth, Thomas needed to see Newt every night. He would never let himself forget that boy’s smile.

Thomas looked up at Minho, letting their eyes meet as Thomas’ hands gently cupped Minho’s cheeks. He let the broken-hearted smile—the only one he could manage—spread across his lips.

“I know,” he said, voice breaking as he felt the exhaustion from lack of sleep and the sobbing swim around him. “I love you.”

Minho kissed him, the way he did every night when Thomas replied the same way.

“I love you too, Tommy,” Minho breathed, holding Thomas close as the younger boy drifted back off to sleep, one last tear sliding down his cheek.

His smile never faded.


End file.
